CHAPTER TWELVE
Mac took control immediately, getting up into the loft with amazing ease (without a ladder) and shouting down that he thought he’d found the source of the leak. He’d divert it with a tarp to make the house watertight until a proper repair could be carried out.
‘Brilliant. Thank you so much,’ I called back faintly, gazing up into the black hole through which he’d vanished. I’d no idea what a ‘tarp’ was, but the whole point of having Mac and his team on side was so that I didn’t need to know.
He had a good look around the house while Maisie and I waited in the living room, perched on the dusty window seat. I could hear him spending time in the bedroom where we’d discovered the leak, and my heart was beating nervously as I heard him coming back down the stairs.
He saw my anxious face and was quick to reassure me. ‘Not too much to worry about on the surface. The building is fairly solid as far as I can see. I’ll obviously have a more thorough look in daylight, but I think the leak could be from a blocked gutter.’ He grinned. ‘Not surprising since the gutters probably haven’t been cleared for years.’
I hadn’t liked his ‘on the surface’ remark and I asked him what he’d meant.
He shrugged. ‘It seems an unusual construction in that the load-bearing wall that runs the length of the house doesn’t seem to be sufficiently supported.’
I looked at him in horror. ‘You mean the house could fall down at any moment?’
‘Well, no. I doubt it. It’s remained standing all these years. No, I just need to investigate to make sure it’s completely solid.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’ll bring the boys in on Monday, but in the meantime, it’s probably best if you steer clear of the place for now – just until I tell you it’s safe?’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’ I was feeling terrible now for bringing Maisie.
What on earth would Zak say if he knew we’d been wandering around a house that might not be safe?
We left soon after, Maisie and I sheltering from the rain under a throw held between us to reach the car. Mac locked up and ran to his own car, giving a cheery wave as he passed us and calling that he’d phone me when he’d had a proper look at the place.
All the way home, rain lashed the windscreen and I felt quite sick, wondering what on earth I would have done without someone to help tonight.
Thank goodness for Mac . . .
*****
Zak phoned later and, not wanting him to worry, I gave him an edited version of what had happened.
I could tell he was concerned that we’d gone to the house before we knew it was definitely safe, but luckily he was more focused on his writing. He was full of his new plot, saying he was making good progress with the story already.
‘Great! Have you got a title?’ I asked.
He hesitated. ‘Erm . . . well . . . a working title. For now, I’m calling it . . . Death Mountain .’
‘Ooh, a thriller! I can’t wait to read it.’ Zak always liked me to read his manuscripts before he sent them off to his editor, and I felt honoured that he valued my opinion.
‘Miss you. And Maisie. Give her my love, will you?’
‘She’s here if you’d like to speak to her.’
‘Is she still up?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Erm... well, she doesn’t have school in the morning, so we’re just watching a film.’ I glanced at her. ‘Oh, hang on,’ I whispered. ‘She’s actually fast asleep here on the sofa.’
He chuckled. ‘Well, give her my love and tell her we’re going ten-pin bowling next weekend.’
‘Okay. She’ll love that.’
When we ended the call, I sank back, switched off the movie and gently woke Maisie before leading her up to bed.
I was feeling bad for being economical with the truth, but I didn’t think it would go down too well with Zak if I’d told him everything.
There was still dust in our hair from when part of the ceiling fell in on us!
*****
Rhona was proving to be a fabulous replacement for Rori at the glamping site.
She was so organised and efficient, which was clearly why her cleaning company had been so successful. She’d sold the business to a much larger, nationwide group, and when she told me the price tag they’d been willing to pay, I’d had to stop myself from gasping loudly in amazement.
It puzzled me why Rhona – presumably now a fairly wealthy woman – was prepared to roll up her sleeves and clean toilets on my glamping site. But I could tell from what she said that she wasn’t really doing it for the money. She was the sort of active person who couldn’t bear to be idle. I wondered, too, if being with people all day kept her from being lonely.
Rhona was also great at helping people. Nothing ever seemed to be too much trouble.
Take that afternoon, for example. She’d come into the café at the end of her shift for a coffee and one of her favourite date scones before going home to collect Mungo from Amanda. She’d been sitting at a table near the counter when customer Lena Carstairs, in her eighties, had started talking to me about pension credit as I’d served her a slice of carrot cake.
‘Apparently I might be entitled to claim it but I don’t know the first thing about computers,’ she’d told me, looking pale and worried. ‘John always did things like that for me. Online stuff.’
‘Oh. Well, you should definitely apply if you think you might be entitled to it,’ I said. Things had been tough for Lena since John died the year before.
Rhona had come up to the counter with her tray and overheard our conversation.
‘I helped my next-door neighbour Amanda apply for pension credit,’ she told Lena with a smile. ‘It was actually easier than I thought it would be. If you like, I could help you do it as well?’
Lena had accepted gratefully.
I’d watched the pair of them, sitting at a table in the window as Rhona guided Lena through the process, and I’d thought what a genuinely kind and caring person she was. Lena really didn’t have a clue about modern technology but Rhona was being so patient with her, taking the time to explain things in very simple terms so that the older woman would understand.
While they were busy, Sylvia and Mick arrived. Sylvia was the original owner of the Little Duck Pond Café and she’d become a really good friend – along with her lovely fiancé, Mick. (Although Sylvia recently celebrated her eightieth birthday and Mick was just a year younger, she seemed as excited about their forthcoming wedding as if they were a couple in their twenties, and it was so heart-warming to see.)
Mick waved at me and found a table, while Sylvia came to the counter and ordered toasted teacakes and a pot of tea for two. As we chatted, Rhona called that she’d see me the following morning and left with Lena, and Sylvia frowned and said, ‘I’m pretty sure I know that lady. The younger one?’
‘Do you?’ I looked at her in surprise. ‘Rhona’s my new assistant at the glamping site. She’s from London. She just moved here.’
‘But she was actually born here.’
‘In Sunnybrook? Are you sure?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘She was orphaned, bless her, when she was just a teenager. Her mother, Elizabeth, died fairly young in a traffic accident.’
‘Really?’ I stared at Sylvia, aghast.
‘I remember reading about it the newspapers. Elizabeth was on her way to the registry office to marry her fiancé when she was involved in a road accident. She made it to hospital but she died on the operating table.’
‘Oh, how awful.’ Rhona hadn’t mentioned her mother to me. She probably didn’t like to talk about such a terrible tragedy. ‘But are you sure it’s her? I got the impression Rhona was new to this area.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Now I think about it, it’s definitely her. She was just a young girl and she vanished soon after Elizabeth died. The word was she cut herself off from all her friends in her misery after she lost her mother. There were rumours she’d gone to live with an aunt in London.’
‘Poor Rhona. Presumably her father wasn’t around, then?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘Elizabeth was a single mother. That made the tragedy of her death so much worse. Her only child being orphaned at such a young age.’
‘I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt,’ I murmured, thinking that all these years later, Rhona still seemed to be alone – apart from Mungo, of course.
‘It was splashed across all the newspapers at the time. But hopefully she’s got her life on track now.’ She gave me a rueful smile and patted my hand. ‘I can’t imagine a better boss to end up working for.’
‘Me?’ I chuckled. ‘Aw, shucks, Sylvia. I know. I’m brilliant, aren’t I?’
‘Well, you are.’ She pinched my cheek fondly. ‘It must have been hard losing Rori. But Rhona seems to be stepping into her shoes very well.’
‘She is. She’s such a hard worker and she’s so good with the guests.’
My mobile rang and – apologising to Sylvia – I fished it out of the pocket of my apron.
It was the Mac, the builder. My heart started to skip along with dread.
Did I really want to hear this?